


midlight

by miriya



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Banter, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Photography, PromCor, mostly soft, retiree roadtrip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriya/pseuds/miriya
Summary: The language of our kind is written in my hands and in my bed.Some time after the return of Light to Eos, Prompto accepts a photography commission, and takes Cor on a journey across the continent to witness scenes of a world rebuilding.  Unsurprisingly, the planet is not the only thing in need of healing.  (Updated as the mood strikes, with no real destination in mind.)





	1. parallax

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me here, folks; this is actually the sequel to a fic that's half pure self-indulgence and half ship manifesto but only slightly written at the moment because I have little time but have also fallen into this may-december hell and honestly never want to leave. I mean, this is also pure self-indulgence, but it's also sort of the equivalent of snacking on ingredients while cooking an all-day dinner, you know?

"Hold still."

Cor fails, in a sense, to follow the order as stated -- if only because the expressive line of an eyebrow is twitching its way higher up toward his hairline in steady increments. "I _am_ still," he rumbles, speaking slowly, as if to a child.

Prompto hums a noncommittal response, expecting the answer. It's funny, some of the ways Cor proves himself utterly predictable. Not much imagination (oh, but that's not true at all, he knows exactly how imaginative the former Marshal of the Crownsguard can be) when it comes to _art_ , which means it's a good thing Prompto's here to guide him.

The chair creaks as Cor shifts slightly beneath the scrutinizing weight of Prompto's attention. To this day, it still gives him a little thrill to know that _he's_ capable of that -- of making _Cor_ freaking _Leonis_ consider himself through the lens of Prompto's eyes.

Of course, the camera cradled in Prompto's hands doesn't hurt his position, either.

Cor sits at an angle, there at the edge of the rickety kitchen table in their little apartment. (it isn't much, not nearly as big as the groomed but mostly soulless house Prompto had grown up in across the city, but it's what they'd settled on once the rebuilding efforts had started in earnest and he's proud of it.) His hands are curled around a chipped mug, the open beak and beady black eye of a chocobo visible between the slender tips of his staggered fingers, morning light streaming through the window behind him and lighting up his close-cropped, greying hair like a halo.

Even in civilian life, Cor prefers neutral colors, most comfortable still in blacks and dark greys. The simple shirt he wears now is another concession to Prompto, a deep olive green -- not that it'll matter, not for this shot -- but Prompto loves it all the same. A reminder of _yes_ , one of many kept close to his heart.

Abruptly, Cor's expression smooths again. Prompto lifts the camera. Frames the shot. _Click._ Pause. _Click._

 _Click_.

"Good?" Barely a trace of curiosity in Cor's voice, but Prompto doesn't take offense -- Cor is rarely interested in _anything_ prior to his second cup of coffee. (Mostly. _Mostly_.) He's looking for permission to be done, and for a moment, Prompto almost gives it to him.

But he consults his viewscreen first, and while the image is lovely, the trace of sleepy vacancy in Cor's expression isn't quite what he's hoping to capture. More than anyone or anything else, Cor is his trickiest subject; there's precious little difference between the surge of satisfaction and wild fluttering in his chest that marks a particularly evocative shot with the feeling he gets just watching the man. How could he not? Cor makes every shot a masterpiece. Cor suggests it's because Prompto has no sense of professional boundaries, and he has come to terms with the fact that, as usual, Cor is pretty much right.

So he rolls with it; to hell with boundaries, anyway. "Almost," Prompto answers, and sets the camera on the table for a moment, stepping forward to make small adjustments. He straightens the collar of Cor's shirt, smoothing fabric beneath his thumbs until he's satisfied with the symmetry.

Obligingly, Cor is attempting to remain still, but he lifts his head when Prompto's hands drift higher, a whispered scratch of beard beneath his palms as his fingertips rest along the weathered slope of Cor's cheekbone. "You have such beautiful eyes," Prompto breathes, quiet and reverent, and leans forward to kiss him. He tastes the bitter tang of black coffee, and beneath that the faintest hint of toothpaste. Cor grumps a quiet, amused noise against his mouth, but Prompto can feel the faint turn of lips against his own and thinks --

" _There_ ," Prompto whispers, blindly reaching beside him for the camera as he withdraws. Maybe this isn't the shot he'd been after, either, but if the long darkness had taught him anything, it was to seize the moment with both hands, no matter what. It's brought him this far, hasn't it?

Prompto squints to look through the viewfinder, sizing up the shot. Cor's wearing that smile that isn't, the line of his brow softer now, deepening the lines around those winter-blue eyes. Whatever prior vacancy had been there before has been coaxed aside, and the word that comes mind is _indulgent_.

Not so rare a look these days, but one he's yet to capture. Another for his growing collection. Prompto is no longer embarrassed by the thought.

 _Click_.

Only one shot is needed. Prompto lowers the camera and gives Cor a jubilant thumbs-up, and the older man breathes a sigh of relief as he reaches up to rub his hand over his face, the other dragging the cup of coffee closer. "Good enough?" Cor asks.

"Perfect," Prompto says breathlessly. "Absolutely perfect."

"You say that every time." 

Cor's wry smiles happen on the left side of his mouth, just crooked enough to expose the tip of his canine tooth between his lips. Prompto looks forward to that sight -- instigates it specifically sometimes, when he wants to be reminded. "I mean it," he says lightly.

"Brat," Cor grumbles over the rim of his mug, but he's smiling.

"You adore me," Prompto says as he makes his way toward the coffee pot to retrieve his own cup, and despite the confident lilt in his voice, he feels his face go warm when he hears Cor hum an unhurried assent. Some things he's not sure he'll ever get used to.

-

The photograph itself barely requires any touching up; a minor adjusting of values before he sends it to the printer. Prompto slides the photo across the table for Cor's inspection a few minutes later, unaccountably pleased by the result. It's a study of contrasts, much like Cor himself, Prompto thinks: the starkness of black and white and the almost otherworldly glow of sunlight eating away at his sharp edges; the precise crease of Cor's open collar running parallel to the line of his throat, the faintly tired tilt of his broad shoulders; Cor's cool, pale stare and the first hint of that secret smile on lips kissed to softness just seconds prior.

It's … mysterious. Beautiful. _Fitting_.

"Art," Prompto says as he drags his chair close, knocking his thigh playfully against Cor's as he settles down next to him. "So, how do you think I should repay my favorite subject?" The look he turns on Cor is an almost theatrical leer.

Cor huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while Prompto waits in anticipatory silence. "Perhaps…" He hesitates.

Prompto nods, waiting.

"Perhaps…" Cor's smile shifts wolfish. "An omelet."

"Ah, you're no fun at all," Prompto grumbles. Still, he drapes himself over Cor's shoulder, nosing aside the careful angle of his collar to get to the skin beneath. Cor's whiskers catch and tug apart the careful sweep of his hair when he turns his head, but Prompto finds he doesn't mind at all. "I thought old men were supposed to be dirty."

"Which is why we shower in the morning, Prompto. There's a bit of that Anak cheese left, yes?"

A soft groan for the terrible joke, and Prompto can feel as much as hear the rumble of amusement deep in Cor's chest. "Enough, yeah."

"Two eggs. No kitchen fires."

Prompto scoffs. "Hey, who do you think you're talking to, anyway?" A beat, and then, a little sullen: "It's been six months."

Cor's laughter is louder this time, but he softens the dig with a sun-warmed arm around Prompto's side, Cor's lips brushing soft against his temple. "Breakfast, first. Then we'll see."

"So ... dirty, but not spontaneous," Prompto teases.

"And then," Cor continues, deliberately ignoring the interruption, "you can tell me about this project of yours."


	2. bokeh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hitting the road, and an epiphany. Happy birthday, Chocobutt. <3

It's no Regalia -- no Star of Lucis either -- but the old convertible's bench seats are comfortable and the car is, Cindy assures them, in the best shape it can be. More than capable of handling Prompto's ambitious itinerary, as long as they treat her well. "Which means I'm stuck driving," Cor murmurs over the insistent hum of an air compressor, gracefully deflecting the elbow Prompto jabs directly toward his ribs with the back of his hand.

"Mister Marshal," Cindy drawls, holding out a clipboard, "Paw-paw didn't say it right out, but I know he's hoping you might stop by for a few before you head out. He's out back by the cargo pods."

"I had every intention," Cor says, mildly surprised. Prompto can see in Cor's face that he wants to correct her over the _Marshal_ business, but in the end it's convenience that wins out over correctness. Those precious seconds of internal debate give Prompto the opportunity to snatch the clipboard, however, and he backs away with his prize, grinning wide.

Cor lifts an eyebrow, mouth pulling into an unimpressed scowl. Prompto shrugs, unfazed; it's _his_ trip, after all, and Vyv promised to cover a significant portion of the expenses besides. Cor is along for the ride, for the _company_ \-- for the fact, of course, that after ten years of hits and misses and time misplaced, the idea of further separation sits sour in Prompto's gut.

(Besides, Prompto thinks, it'll probably be good for both of them. To retrace those paths, tiptoeing around them if needed, to see the result. 

To find ultimate value in the cost.

The driver, the passenger. They won't be without their own ghosts, but they'll have each other. Even if the world outside is more scarred than they'd hoped, they'll have that.)

It takes several seconds for Cor to come to terms with the fact that the same piercing stare that once turned decades worth of subordinates and enemies alike into nervous husks has lost its effect on his partner. Prompto watches the approach of reluctant acceptance flicker through his silver-blue eyes like channels on a television, culminating in a long, weary sigh that sounds a little bit like his soul's being expelled through his nose.

Prompto winks, and laughs fondly when Cor's head turns away suddenly, embarrassed in some small, inarticulate way.

"Thank you for your work, Miss Aurum. I'll -- be going then," Cor says, that businesslike attitude slipping in the face of near-familiarity as he moves off in search of Cid. Cindy blinks after him, silent for the span of a few heartbeats before she slides her arm through Prompto's and directs him back out of the garage, toward the old car.

"Ain't thought to see any of y'all out this way so soon," she says. "After all that work gettin' back inside, y'know?"

It's kind of funny, he thinks: twelve years ago, he'd be over the moon with just this little bit of contact. A part of him still feels his heart beat faster in such close proximity to Cindy, tanned and happy as she is, curly blonde hair secured into a messy braid pulled out the back of her oil-stained cap and the first signs of crow's feet pulling at the corners of her lovely sparkling eyes.

Time and reality has made of her a good friend, rather than an impossible goal to throw himself at to feel the grounding sting of failure. Would the Prompto of twelve years ago be able to believe any of this? He doubts it. "Hadn't really expected it," Prompto admits with a quiet huff of laughter. "But I got an offer I couldn't refuse. Go out, take some pictures of the progress, and maybe make enough money to get some decent furniture."

Cindy laughs. "Never woulda expected to hear that out of _your_ mouth."

"What can I say? Domestic life suits me." Prompto flashes a grin, warm all over. He likes their little apartment with their well-used appliances in their gray little building in a city that's finally starting to find its feet again. He likes waking up to a bed barely big enough for two, likes rolling over into the lingering warmth Cor's body has left behind, buried underneath the sheet. He even likes the squeal from the shower dial when Cor turns it, audible and reliable enough to serve as Prompto's personal alarm clock.

"Anyone can see that," Cindy says, and pats his arm. "Never seen either of ya look so pleased."

Prompto supposes that's probably not a very hard bar to clear, but the idea that he's not the only one wandering around like he's walking on clouds is a nice one. They spend the next several minutes discussing the recent weather trends out here in Leide, as well as rumors of a particularly nasty strain of mutated hounds spotted out near Three Valleys. A good place to take some pictures, Cindy says, and Prompto knows she's asking the two of them to look into it.

By the time Cor and Cid make their way to the front of the garage, Cindy's giving Prompto a demonstration on how to release the catches for the soft-top. It's not automatic, and they'll have to pull over to switch things up, but it looks simple enough to fold the old vinyl back and lock it down. It's good information to have, because the Regalia had pretty well spoiled him for long drives bathed in the bright sunlight and the earthy scent of the countryside flowing in from all sides -- and because he's pretty sure Cor doesn't care either way, which means the decision is his for the taking. 

He's gotten good at that, taking charge of the decisions Cor isn't invested in enough to have a preference for. It had taken some time to get used to, and he knows that sometimes it's just Cor deferring so Prompto doesn't have to ask for what he wants, but he's learned how to be pretty good at that, too.

A quieter journey, this time. The flavor of the banter when it comes is different, those long spans of silence promising to feel different, though no less comfortable. No good-natured squabbles or fluttering pages or the presence of huge arms curling around his headrest for leverage. No wheedling for a shot at real beds and hot showers; the itinerary only calls for two or three overnights out in the wilds, marked off with havens useful now for their convenience and vantage, rather than their promise of protection.

"You all right?" Cindy's scuffed, oil-stained fingers curl over his shoulder and Prompto starts, blinking at her like a man caught daydreaming. He's still twisted at the hip in the backseat of the car, staring without any real focus at the dash in front of the passenger side. He's thinking -- he's thinking that he never really spent much time back here. Only when Noct's boredom itched strong enough to leave him asking for the wheel rather than submit to the familiar comfort of Iggy behind the wheel.

It aches, but it doesn't hurt like it did, something sweet curling up in the hollowed-out places grief left behind. He murmurs a vague, affirmative sound, then turns his head to catch sight of Cor and the considering look in his eyes as he watches Prompto. He thinks it's kinda funny, how despite the fact that Cor positively _looms_ over the wizened old man, he still looks like he's waiting for some sort of smack on the wrist. A little apprehensive, maybe, and Prompto wonders what passed between them -- and why Cor's got a canvas-wrapped bundle tucked in his arms. 

"Yeah," he says, just in case it wasn't clear. "Just -- thinking about those hounds, I guess. Nice to actually have the gil on hand, this time, you know?"

"Nice to know what it is, I bet," Cindy teases, and Prompto feels the wash of heat across his face. Gods, he'd been young and dumb and all the rest, hadn't he?

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Cor slips out of Cid's shadow, rocking back on his heels the way he does when he's starting to feel restless. Prompto slides out of the backseat, gently nudging the door closed with his hip before moving to meet them, one hand lifting in a wave. He likes Cid; the old man intimidates the heck out of him, but even that isn't necessarily a bad thing. "It's good to see you," Prompto says, and the old man scoffs and gestures like he's attempting to bat the sentiment aside.

"Better get movin' if you're not intending on getting stuck here for the night," he grouses, but he's smiling beneath that bushy white mustache, eyes crinkling so deep they almost seem to disappear. "You boys take care of yourselves out there. And tell that Jeth he owes me one when you make the delivery."

_Ah._

"Of course," Cor says, weird with that hint of deference in his tone and Prompto bites the inside of his cheek to kill a grin at -- all of it, really. The idea of anyone referring to Cor as _boy_ is priceless.

"Thanks a lot," Cindy adds. "We owe _you_ one."

Cid snorts, at the same time Cor shakes his head in denial. It's -- strange, a little, to be a part of this. Prompto knows Cor isn't friendless, but he knows, too, that outside of a sparse circle of surviving Crownsguard and Kingsglaive, most of those people are long gone. It's a rare look into a part of Cor's life that he hasn't been privy to before, a new way of seeing old acquaintances. Even if he's looking in from the outside, it doesn't feel uncomfortable.

He's earned that, he thinks. 

The package gets tucked neatly into the trunk in front of their supplies and luggage, next to Cor's sword and a few boxes of spare ammunition to match the pistols tucked under the passenger seat. Cid and Cindy see them off from the mouth of the garage, and Prompto waves until he can no longer make out either of them clearly before dropping back into his seat and scooting across the length of seat between them, until he can lean into the sturdy line of Cor's side.

"Hounds?" Cor doesn't feel the need to elaborate.

Prompto hums. "Cindy said there's some mutations causing trouble. Didn't _say_ we should take care of it, but…"

A quiet huff of laughter. "Should've realized it runs in the family."

"What: handing out quests, or accepting them?"

The question catches Cor off-guard; Prompto can feel that in the way he starts against him, the weight of Cor's attention he can feel like a physical presence. Maybe it's a bold thing to say out loud -- not _wrong_ , it's just that Cor's content to leave the obvious unspoken and Prompto's content to let him have that -- but Prompto is unapologetic all the same, eyes stubbornly focused on the long strip of road in front of them, stretching out toward the mountains cutting across the horizon. Cor shifts and resettles against him, one hand firm on the steering wheel, the other ruffling Prompto's hair gently before he feels a strong arm settle over his shoulder, tightening briefly.

"Good question," Cor rumbles, smoothly moving past that momentary hesitation. "Looks like both, doesn't it?"

It doesn't even feel like a concession -- just another one of those moments of obvious truth that leave Prompto feeling weak and fluttery and awed by the weight of this thing they've carved out for themselves all over again. "Sure does," Prompto agrees, and closes his eyes as he surrenders to the warm, effervescent feeling bubbling up inside his chest. "It'll be a nice date. Just you, me, and some cute monster dogs trying to chew us into pieces."

"How romantic," Cor remarks dryly, but Prompto can hear the smile he's trying to hide.

"Super romantic. Guess we'll have to make do with a fancy candlelit dinner at the outpost, instead."

Cor snorts. "They're pretty much all candlelit out there, Prompto."

" _Details_."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @celesticidal; I really want to yell gleefully about these two with people, and I'm also open to prompts!
> 
> Music: Wye Oak - If You Should See


End file.
